


I'm Dying To Be Taken Apart

by oliviathecf



Series: Writer's Favorites [14]
Category: Ant-Man (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Alcohol, Alley Sex, Ambiguous Humanity, Blow Jobs, Drugs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 08:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13760046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliviathecf/pseuds/oliviathecf
Summary: For once, Hank Pym looked at him like he didn't have all the answers.





	I'm Dying To Be Taken Apart

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I've been calling a pseudo-sequel to my fic, "What Useless Tools Ourselves" which features a road trip and a relationship between Scott Lang and Eric O'Grady. It didn't start out that way, I wanted to portray Eric doing risky things just because he could, something that was explored in canon with him getting tattoos because he liked the pain. I took it farther and then my other fic invited itself to the party, and this was born. 
> 
> I don't think you need to read it to read this one, but I personally think it's quite good, so I'm going to link it without putting it into a series as they're only loosely connected through Eric. 
> 
> If you've never read a story by me with Eric in it, he has freckles and I portray him to be pretty young, around 23/24 at the time of his death. He will never get older than that. He also has a massive praise kink.
> 
> The title is from "Born to Beg" by the National. 
> 
> And here is a link to [ What Useless Tools Ourselves ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13478796). 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Life after death, a ridiculous concept when he felt more alive than ever. Picking up bad habits just because he could, an unlit cigarette hanging between his teeth. He waited outside, the liquor thrumming through his body, feeling the music through the grimy bricks under his fingers.

Eric wasn't sure if the rips in his jeans were from age or if they came like that, but they were tight enough and he looked drunk enough that a hand flicked a lighter in front if his face. The free hand cupped his face and the lighter burned the end of his cigarette, one of those silver Zippo lighters. Eric chuckled, smoke billowing past his lips.

“You don't smoke.” He murmured, leaning back against the wall.

Pym grinned and it felt like a joke at Eric’s expense, so he blew smoke out into his face. His nerves were firing on all ends, high off of something some pretty girl with a huge chest offered him off the end of her tongue. His fingers itched to do something drastic, to punch Hank in the face or pull him closer, so instead he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and let out a puff of acrid smoke instead.

“I thought you were dead.” He said and it felt like a stupid thing to say.

Did anyone stay dead in their profession anyway? Hank had yet to say anything either, maybe he couldn’t say anything without betraying the half of him that was still Ultron or maybe he just didn’t have anything to say.

Eric supposed that he couldn’t really say anything about robots, though, having to remind himself through the fog of drugs and drinks that he wasn’t human himself.

Above them, a red neon sign flickered to life, bathing them both in a red glow. Pym took the cigarette from slacked fingers and, to Eric’s credit, he didn’t flinch when skin brushed against skin. He wasn’t sure if Pym was playing the hero or the villain these days but he breathed out smoke and looked over at him with dark, hooded eyes, and Eric thought that he came straight out of a nightmare. Eric licked the taste of cheap whiskey and coke from his lips, reaching over and taking his cigarette back.

“I thought you were still hanging around Scott.” Pym said, finally speaking.

His voice was already roughened by the smoke and Eric snorted.

“Nah, he ditched me. Guardians of the Galaxy reconsidered and took them with him. Is that who you’re looking for?”

He tried not to sound bitter.

“No. I was looking for you.”

Eric let himself look at Pym. He looked more human than the last time he had seen him anyway, like his robot son wasn’t wearing his face like a trophy. Yet he had a look in his eyes that Eric couldn’t really place as fully human either. His eyes were blue, his hair blond and tousled, and he wore a grey wool coat which looked expensive. Eric’s eyes flicked down and he noticed that Pym was wearing tight black jeans, and he mentally tried to pass the sudden dryness in his mouth as a side effect of the pill he took. The wall behind his back felt even colder through his thin tee shirt, a seeping coldness that chilled him to the bone. He thought he brought a coat to the club but he didn’t know where he had left it, and he shivered despite himself, passing the cigarette back to Hank.

Briefly, he let himself think about Scott Lang. Probably with stars reflecting off of his stupid huge helmet, shooting lasers and doing cool space things. He did something like that once, in a lifetime that felt like an eternity ago as he watched Hank take another drag of the cigarette, swaying back and forth against the brick wall. Instead of stars, he was outlined in red and a smear of city grime against the back of his shirt. Eric leaned back like he expected the wall to hold him up, cradling him in the dirty alleyway, and he thought about how glad he was that they had finally both left Florida behind them. Even if Scott was farther away, safe, while he was still on Earth with nothing to do but keep running.

Belatedly, he realized that Hank was standing between him and the exit, but he took the cigarette from his fingers, finishing it off and tossing it into a red lit puddle. 

With nothing else between them, he thought about how stupid it was to be back in New York City. That it was no wonder that someone like Hank found him. But he couldn’t tell if Hank was playing the hero or the villain, and he’s looking at him with unreadable eyes instead of eyes telling him that he was in trouble.

His fingers itched for another cigarette but that was his last one, so there was nothing else to do but grab the lapels of Hank’s jacket and pull him up against him. He spread his legs slightly to let Pym stand between them, feeling the heat between them. In the back of his mind, he realized that he probably looked like a whore, flushed and rolling off of some mystery pill in some dirty alley, looking into the blue eyes of a man that he hated or thought he hated with his own green eyes blown wide and begging for a fuck. Hank’s body felt so good against his, much needed contact with someone he actually knew, not some random hook-up. He really was desperate for it, especially after Scott went up to space.

A part of him expected Hank to push back, to berate him or even laugh in his face. What he got was so much better, as Pym pushed him up hard against the wall and leaned in until their noses brushed together. He looked into Eric’s eyes and chuckled, tilting his head just slightly. His hands came up to bracket Eric’s head, falling forward onto his forearms, their lips a fraction of an inch apart. When he spoke, his breath fanned over Eric’s face, smelling foul with cigarette smoke and whiskey. He didn’t seem drunk, though, perhaps he had only had one while looking for Eric amongst the throng of people.

“Do you even know what you’re asking for?”

 _No_ , he thought, as his head swam and the face in front of him started to blur, so he surged forward and crashed their lips together because it was easier than responding, better than not getting what he wanted. If he had said no, Pym would probably push him back and he just needed something, _anything_. Pym responded viciously, teeth and tongue, before pushing him back. His head hit the wall and he grunted, panting hard, licking the taste of Hank Pym and cigarette smoke off of his lips. A hand came up to his face, tilting his head up just slightly so Pym could look into his eyes.

“You have no idea,” He murmured. “I’m surprised you know who’s doing this to you.”

And then Hank kissed him again, pressing him up against the wall so hard it was as if he shoved him. He moaned into the kiss, whining and gasping as Pym’s hips pressed against his just enough to let him feel that he was growing hard.

Of course he knew who was doing this to him, whose tongue he had in his mouth, whose teeth nipped at his bottom lip hard enough for him to wince. He just didn’t know why he had come and how he knew Eric was there, but a hand pushed his jaw up so he could press rough kisses to his neck, and Eric couldn’t bring himself to care about anything but the feeling of Hank sucking bruises into his throat. Hank continued to murmur harsh words into the freckled skin of his throat, hips starting to grind against his. Pym was half hard before but, with hips working against hips, they were both coaxed into full hardness, grinding until they were both panting and moaning.

“Did you and Scott, _fuck_ , sleep together when you were on your little road trip?” Hank asked and Eric found himself nodding despite himself.

Hank chuckled and Eric wondered if they had ever fucked. Scott Lang, with the stars and the cold vastness of space instead of the chill of New York City in the winter and red neon. Then Hank sucked his ear lobe into his mouth, nibbling in it, and Eric stopped wondering about anything at all except for the feeling of Hank against his body. His hands ran down Pym’s wool covered back, and he moaned into the empty air. He was reward with another rock of Pym’s hard length against his own, hot and obvious through the tight jeans that they both wore.

Pym pressed one last harsh kiss to his mouth, to his jawline, to the hollow of his throat, before reaching down and palming himself through his pants. He groaned and Eric watched as he unzipped himself, pulling his cock through his fly. It was flushed and leaking from the tip, and Eric’s mouth went dry again.

He didn’t need to ask or be told what to do, his knees hit the dirty, damp pavement. He wanted a fuck, wanted Pym to push him against the wall and thrust into him, but this was what Pym seemed to want from him. Cold seeped in through the rips of his jeans and through the thin fabric, and he licked his lips as pre-cum leaked onto the ground in front of him. Pym’s cock was outlined in that red neon color, flickering on and off between bright red and that brown gray which was the darkest the city ever got. Fingers curled into long ginger hair, bringing him forward until the head of Hank’s cock was pressed against the seam of his lips.

Pym was looking down at him with that unreadable expression again, and Eric opened his mouth to suck the head of his cock in because it was suddenly the only thing he has ever wanted to do. Because, if he sucks Pym’s cock, he’ll get some form of praise or even a smile out of him, anything would be better than that look of nothingness in his eyes. Like Eric was hurting him or, worse, nothing to him.

So he bobbed down, taking more and more of him into his mouth until the head bumped the back of his throat and he nearly gagged. Fingers stroked his hair and Pym moaned above him, hips pushing up into his mouth until he nearly gagged again. He pulled back, coughing once and looking up at Pym with eyes that started to fill with tears, but Pym used his grip on his hair to bring his mouth back onto his cock.

“Easy.” Pym murmured, carding a hand through his hair.

Eric hummed in acknowledgement and Pym cursed, thrusting forward again. He took it slower, alternating sucking with bobbing, tongue stroking up and down the veins in a way that made Pym curse louder. One of his hands circled what he couldn’t fit in his mouth and the other palmed himself through his pants, the bulge straining at the front of his zipper in a way that was almost painful.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Pym groaned, hands tightening in his hair, “Take yourself out of your pants.”

He pulled back to work at the head of Pym’s cock with his tongue, licking over the slit with the tip while he worked at the zipper of his pants. His fingers shook and it took him a few moments, pausing to suck Hank’s dick almost all the way in his mouth, to trace his tongue around the head. Like he was starving for it, like something bad would happen if he stopped for a moment. Eventually, though, he pulled himself out and Hank groaned appreciatively at the sight.

“Good boy,” He murmured. “Eric, you're so good at this. You weren't so good at this last time, you've been practicing. Haven't you?”

Eric’s face burned with the praise and he stroked himself in his hand, rough and without any sense of rhythm. He almost felt sick with his desperation, sliding down to take more and more until the head of Hank’s cock slid down his throat. His lips hit the base and he looked up with wide green eyes filling with tears, reflecting that red neon.

At that moment, Hank cursed and slipped out of his mouth. He shot hot cum over Eric’s face, moaning loudly as ropes hit his open mouth. A thick droplet clung to his bottom lip and he licked it away, gasping for breath and continuing to stroke himself. 

Splayed out, on his knees in a dirty alley, head back and moaning Hank’s name into the open air, under that damned flickering neon light. Eric jerked himself off with Hank’s hand pushing cum into his slacked mouth with his thumb, until he shuddered and came all over Hank’s shoes with a loud gasp. Eric whined and fell back when he was finally spent, head hitting the brick wall hard enough where his vision went blurry for a moment.

He looked up at Hank, who looked down on him with a mix of pity and latent arousal. Gentle, cold fingers stroked over his flushed face and he wondered when Pym got so gentle.

Hank sat next to him on the dirty alley floor, looking over at him with eyes that were more hollow than he had ever seen. When he was so used to Hank knowing everything about anything, he looked over at Eric with a wry, sad smile and sighed.

Under that neon light which had finally flicked off for real, leaving both of them in that gray-brown half darkness, leaving him with a feeling of sudden sobriety. A heaviness that just made him sad, in the darkness which made everything all too real, from the feeling of cold water seeping in through the holes of his jeans to the raw, abused feeling of his throat.

Hank reached into the pockets of his jacket, pulling out an unopened pack of cigarettes still in the plastic. Unwrapping it, he held it out for Eric to take one but didn't take one for himself, shoving the crinkling plastic into his pocket. Once again, he cupped Eric’s face and lit the cigarette for him with that silver Zippo and, once again, he stole it from Eric’s lips and took a drag.

Eric pushed forward and kissed him, the taste of smoke and cum on his tongue, and Hank let him without kissing him back fully.

“I don't know what I'm going to do.” Eric murmured, almost too quietly.

He wanted reassurance, he wanted a plan, but Hank kissed him once and gave him a sad smile, and that almost felt like enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, I hope you liked it! Feel free to leave some love (or hate) either here or on my tumblr: 
> 
>  
> 
> [ Fic Blog. ](http://fanfictionolivia.tumblr.com/)


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